When my ink dims his poetic flash Your heart burns so you dub it a trash If you arm your tongue eager to me lash Calm down! I’ll soon fine-tune this trash. When I imbue my verses with a modern splash; Sometimes, the tone may be arid and harsh Your mind may revolt and ready to crash Calm down! I’ll soon fine-tune this trash. You may lack penny and be in need of cash While I weave not just to make much cash Your interest and mine differ; so they clash Calm down! I’ll fine-tune this trash. When I web words, which the truth splash If it’s not your interest, you may term it a trash Being mad you’d want to wipe out the rash Or arm your tongue ready to me bash Calm down! I’ll soon fine-tune this trash.